


Lost

by Tom_Tomorrow



Category: Chicago Fire, Chicago Med, Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt Hailey Upton, Hurt Jay Halstead, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rescue, Survivor Guilt, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 12:10:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21299240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tom_Tomorrow/pseuds/Tom_Tomorrow
Summary: “We found her.”It doesn’t hit him, at first, what that means. The implication of those words echoing somewhere behind Jay, lost in the mechanical rigidness that had marked his movements for the past few days.“I… what?”Jay hears himself asking, and the words feel foreign and rough, catching in his throat as he attempts to string them together. His body already registering, what his mind hasn’t yet.... ... ...A sting goes wrong.Eleven days later... and Jay is still dealing with the aftermath.
Relationships: Jay Halstead & Hailey Upton, Jay Halstead & Kim Burgess, Jay Halstead & Will Halstead
Comments: 5
Kudos: 105





	Lost

“We found her.”

It doesn’t hit him, at first, what that means.

The implication of those words echoing somewhere behind Jay, lost in the mechanical rigidness that had marked his movements for the past few days, taking up residence with the muscle memory of listening that had come just as easily as the muscle memory of answering his personal cell. 

His eyes burn, not from sawdust this time, unwavering from the square photos and multicolored push pins and reddened yarns that falsely attempt to tie everything together on the board he'd been standing at for hours. Memorizing it. Committing the suspects to his mind. And if he followed the second strand on the left back to the origin he would see- No. 

No, he wouldn’t. He’d started avoiding that photo on the third day.

It was all he could do after being delegated to desk duty.

“I… what?”

Jay hears himself asking, and the words feel foreign and rough, catching in his throat as he attempts to string them together. His body already registering, what his mind hasn’t yet, palms grow clammy as he white knuckles his cellphone. And even that feels heavy in his good hand, heavy like the words he's trying to speak, like a brick, growing heavier by the second. 

“We found Hailey, Jay. Someone called it in. She’s alive.”

He barely registers that it’s Foster speaking over the freight train of a confirmation and his heart roars in his ears as he stiffens, jerking away from the board, blinking salt ferociously away from his eyes as he fights back the feeling of both infiltrating doubt and cautious hope. Because this isn’t the first false sighting they’ve had, nor the first tip that’s led to nothing. But this is Foster. And Foster is a colleague. A friend. So, if she says it’s her it must be. 

Around him the unit atmosphere shifts ever so slightly, curiosity permeating the tense heaviness that, along with coffee and sheer stubbornness, had been fueling the team as they chased down lead after lead. Jay can feel Kim watching him over her case notes and senses the conversation between Voight and Atwater hush into a whisper as Ruzek simmers in the corner. 

“Jay? D-did you hear me?”

Foster asks again and in the background of the call he can hear footsteps, murmurs and the whistling air of the windy city. But no sirens. And that’s good right? No ambulance sirens?

“I- I... yeah I heard you. Uh… you said… s-said alive, right?”

Jay asks, spitting the words out around the lump in his throat, because he has to hear it again. He needs the affirmation. He needs it to be true. And in the bullpen, the focus is now completely on him, it has Burgess standing up, has Kevin looking at him, has shrouded everyone in complete and utter silence. 

He fumbles with his phone for a moment, knowing the answer to a question that has yet to be asked, bringing the call to the speaker.

“Alive.”

It’s hard to find the words to pinpoint the sudden influx of relief, even if there is something Emily clearly isn’t saying, but Jay lets the feeling wash over him, ignoring the guilt that burgeons at the edges of his mind, sending residual aches to injuries that haven’t quite healed. Across from him, Kim covers her mouth and Kevin shivers hoisting his hands behind his neck as if relieve some unknown weight. Adam only stares running a hand over his stubbled chin, but it is Voight who finds the words, authoritative and rough, penetrating the tension in the air.

“Good. Good.” the sergeant starts, eyes hard and cold, as if he could stare down Foster through the phone. “I’m assuming you’re taking her to Med?”

There’s a silence on the other end that lasts a moment too long. 

It has Jay rocking on his heels and his hand trembling as he struggles to keep his grip steady on his phone.

“Foster.”

Voight repeats, more a statement than a question.

“I… It’s a 135-D-1 She’s refusing treatment, sir.” Foster starts hesitantly, subtle surprise colouring her careful words having realized she’s on speaker. “We’re requesting assistance.”

No.

No…

135-D-1 is the dispatch code for a person with a deadly weapon.

There is a touch of doubt alongside the barely concealed worry emanating from the paramedic’s words as she says them, like she doesn’t really believe what she’s saying, but has to say it for the sake of following protocol.

But Jay has been in this field long enough to know that calling the Intelligence Unit rather than patrol is not part of protocol.

That she’s calling them because they’re friends. 

Because this is personal.

“The address?”

The ache in his arm pulses harshly, and the street name Foster rattles off floats above him, caught in a whirling vortex of unanswered questions and worse case scenarios as he moves to soothe the burn of torn muscle under the whitened hospital bandages. 

Deadly weapon. Deadly weapon. Deadly weapon.

No one is asking Foster to expand on that. Even though it’s clear everyone heard it.

Jay saw the Kim’s jaw clenched. Just like he saw the way Adam’s brow had furrowed. 

So, he knows they heard it.

But what could it be?

Not her Glock 19. 

His partner’s service weapon was in lock up.

It had been one of the last things Jay had seen, sprawled several feet away from him on the concrete during the attack that had instigated this whole mess.

Because even when they'd taken her, they hadn't taken it.

Self-reproach swarms him. Attacks him at every angle, threatening to drag him under, and his breath catches again, deep within his lungs this time. It takes Kim, suddenly closer than before, touching his shoulder to snap him out of it.

For him to realize that the short conversation is already coming to an end.

“We’re on our way.” 

Voight affirms, and the paramedic mumbles an acknowledgment on the other end of the line, then says something hastily about keeping them posted. When she hangs up, the room falls into a standstill for the briefest of moments, but Jay can only stare at his phone, stiffly outstretched in front of him, as if it would roar to life again at any moment. 

“Atwater, Ruzek you’re with me, we’re going to get a few of patrol and grid search the area while it’s still warm. Bastards like this are usually too stupid to stay away for their own good.”

Hank orders gruffly, flexing his fists at his side, and the men follow suit accordingly, reaching for their vests and checking their service weapons. Jay feels numb as he watches them, and his mouth suddenly feels dry as his mind comes up with an argument that gets him on the case. 

Because ever since this incident had started, ever since he had checked out against medical advice, Voight had consistently been sidelining him. The rational part of Jay understands, there’s not much he can do in his current state, but the irrational part of him screams. Because this is his partner. His friend. And he can’t just sit in front of this board and think up connections, he wants to be in the field. He wants to help.

Voight turns toward them, and the sergeant is speaking before Jay has a chance to even open his mouth.

“Burgess. I want you and Jay to report the scene and help Foster and Brett with what you can.” he commands gruffly, eyeing them with the familiar intensity he always seems to hold.

“Bring her home.”

…

Jay’s leg won’t stop shaking, won’t stop stuttering out a staccato beat against the bottom of the patrol car as buildings and street corners blur past them. It’s pointless trying to stop it, considering it’s the only outlet for his barrage of nervous energy. 

He feels his service weapon, tauntingly heavy at his side, itching to be used.

He hadn’t even been able to discharge it, when he needed it most.

That thought alone threatens to push him over the edge.

Jay swallows hard, but even awash in adrenaline, his sleep-deprived mind shuffled and shambled, struggling to catch up to events, struggling to root himself in the now. 

“It’s going to be okay, Jay.”

Burgess says thickly from the driver’s seat.

He glances over at her.

And maybe if it sounded like she wasn’t trying to convince herself as she bit her fingernail, the nervous tic that always betrayed her, he could have felt comfort at her words. 

“Yeah.”

He mutters back, blinking back his darkening thoughts.

“I mean it. Hailey’s a fighter. She knows when to wait for the right moment.”

Kim repeats, stronger this time, and it sounds like she’s repeating someone else’s words.

Jay nods, not trusting himself to speak and he goes back to looking out the window. 

…

Considering traffic, the address Foster had given them isn’t even that far from the precinct.

Jay hasn’t decided how he should feel about that.

If he should be happy because she wasn’t taken across district lines or angry that they’ve been searching for Hailey for eleven days to no avail only to find out she’s pretty much been in their own backyard.

He sees the ambulance, pulled to the side of an empty, dilapidated road, and its swirling coloured lights, before he can even hear the high-pitched sirens that he’d come to associate them with, and as the squad car rolls to a stop he realizes it’s because the ambulance isn’t making any sound. 

Foster is leaning against the hood, cradling a tablet to her chest as the idling engine puffs out smoke behind her. The paramedic’s focus seems to be on something else though, just out of reach of his vision. Regardless, she straightens up and offers a grim smile and half a wave as Kim cuts the engine. 

Jay returns the sentiment, as he steps out of the car, but his attention is already scouring the area.

Where is she? Where is she?

And in that moment, Jay hates the cold. He hates the way his teeth chatter. He hates the shock of frozen air rushing his throat and the way the snow always finds a way into his boots.

“Hey guys.” Emily greets somberly, white gravel crunching under her feet as she trots up to meet them halfway. The paramedic pauses briefly, and Jay can sense her observing his yellowing bruises, taking in the cast on his arm, before she continues. “Sorry this can’t be on better circumstances.”

Burgess nods, shoving her hands into her vest pockets, and Jay sees her looking around too, no doubt thinking the same thing he is.

“Give us a run down?”

Kim asks and her breath steams the air as she shifts to her other foot, jittery now that they’re in the thick of things.

Foster glances over her shoulder.

“I… We think she’s in shock. She’s slurring her words and what she is saying barely makes any sense. Root cause could be a variety of things. She’s underdressed for this weather for one thing, but it could be medicinal or the nasty head wound, the likelihood of a concussion is pretty high.”

Emily rattles off quickly, searching both their expressions as she continues, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Jay that she’s detaching herself from the situation by not using her name.

“She has a fair amount of bruising, but no noticeable hemorrhage or other visible injuries, though she's favoring her left side. She was walking when we got here. Sylvie had… had to convince her to stop. We tried to do more for her, but there isn’t a lot we can do if she won’t let us get close.”

Emily pauses briefly.

“She has a knife.”

Jay's gut twists, dragging itself down to the gravel beneath him in conjunction with the guilt that ties knots in his chest.

“And I don’t think H-Hailey would ever hurt us, but we have to err-”

“Err on the side of caution. I know…” Burgess finishes quietly. “Where are they?”

Foster jerks her head in the direction of an alley, nine or ten paces left of the truck.

Kim nods and the both of them jerk in the direction, but Emily holds out a hand to stop them.

“They did a number on her, Kim.”

The paramedic whispers, touching the edge of Burgess’s elbow, looking her directly in the eye.

Burgess doesn’t say anything, neither does he. 

The ache in his arm roars.

… …. ...

Sylvie is the first one he sees, jogging up to the alley entrance way. A blonde french braid framing her petite features, as she leans against the cobbled brick, holding one of those shock blankets that, thick and wooly, dwarfs a red medical bag that lies just off to the side. 

The small paramedic’s expression mirrors that of Foster’s concern and Jay sees her mouth moving, hearing the wispy s’s and p’s of a clearly one-sided conversation as he drifts closer. Brett tilts her head towards them, acknowledging their presence, but she doesn’t take her eyes off of who’s a few feet beside her.

And Jay barely has time to process his thoughts when the full image of his partner comes into view and whatever initial rush of joy and relief of knowing his partner was present and breathing, evaporates when he registers the damage that had been done. 

Hailey doesn’t look at them, doesn’t even acknowledge them as they slow to a stop near Brett, only a few feet away, but it doesn’t matter because the clues to the blonde’s ordeal are a tapestry on his partner’s body. 

Silence means nothing when dark bruising, drying blood, and absolute despair are screaming at him from under wilted blonde hair. 

He can see the splash of multi-colored contusions twisting up Hailey’s arms, flanking the edges of her neck, disappearing under clothes that aren’t hers. Her police vest is gone and so are the plaid shirt and leather bomber jacket she’d been wearing all those days before. Now it’s some oversized Bears sweatshirt, torn and ragged with spots of darkened red and other muted colors. And Jay knows that the sweatshirt can never have been hers. Because Hailey hates the Bears, she’d always been a Colts fan.

Her white-washed jeans, though hers, hadn’t fared well in her disappearance either, charcoal circles indiscriminately dotting up the left side, scuffed crimson at both knees. And Jay can only blink, remembering seeing her fall. Remembering hearing her fall. 

The gash above her left temple has clotted over, a dried crimson mess that scars a lesion down to the edge of her brow, the discoloration of it sending a darkened shadow over shuttered, distant, bloodshot eyes. 

At the blonde’s side, long and sharp and crimson smeared, is the knife, Hailey's blood-creased fist white-knuckling the hilt, her other hand snaking around her waist as she trembles against the wall, harshly and violently, like the brick is the only thing keeping her up.

She’s alive.

God, she’s alive.

But it doesn’t look great. Fuck, it doesn’t even look okay.  
.  
Kim unthaws first, and sometime later Jay will have to thank her for it, because his feet are cement and his heart is quicksand and he couldn’t have even opened his mouth if he tried.

“Hey… Hey Hails...”

Burgess murmurs thickly, stepping past Sylvie, past the red medical bag, crossing the self-imposed barrier without a second thought, eyes trained on Hailey's face, not on the knife, though Jay know she’s not ignoring it completely. 

“It’s me. Kim… and Jay’s here too…”

Nothing. Nothing from his partner, but a shuddering wheeze that flutters past her clenched teeth.

It’s like she’s looking through them, hooded vision staring straight into the middle distance and it became clear that this is what Emily was talking about that Hailey was almost certainly not with them. That she was more than a little shocky, and the head injury was not serious enough to explain it, nor was there enough blood loss. Unless there were internal injuries, but if that was the case Foster would have said something right?

Guilt burns hot and wet in the corners of Jay's eyes and he stifles the urge to press them together tightly to keep it from overpowering him.

“Can you give us the knife, Hailey? So… so we can help you?”

Kim asks gently, summoning the voice she always used when speaking with child victims: low and soft and as reassuring as possible, and Jay supposes that’s what Hailey is on technical terms. A victim. Even if the word feels wrong in his mouth.

This entire situation feels wrong. 

“Hailey…” 

Burgess is really only a hand-lengths away, but she’s still keeping a respectable distance, waiting for the blonde to make the first move. 

“I… I-I c-can’t…”

Hailey slurs in a hoarse whisper, at last, words scratching their way out of her throat, rough like sandpaper, and she still doesn’t look up, still looks straight ahead.

Lost like the valiant men who returned shells of themselves when real war was introduced to them. Lost like the families who had to gather the pieces whenever who was in charge ran things amok.

Lost. 

“You can. You can, it’s okay….” Kim continues evenly. “You did a good job, a great job… Let us handle the rest okay?”

Hailey twitches, her left-hand flexing and knotting over the knife handle as she shivers, and Jay sees fresh blood well up between the creases of her raw and reddened knuckles.

“I-I c-can’t...”

She repeats in a toneless whisper. 

And this isn’t Hailey, flighty and nervous and shuttered off, this is barely even a shell of her.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” Kim assures thickly, “How about we give it to Jay for now? Just for a little bit?”

Then the brunette is looking back at him, silently gesturing him forward, giving him an in, he realizes, because he’s been rooted in this spot since he stepped into the alleyway. Absolutely useless. 

What had they done to her?

Jay was almost afraid of the answer and he pushes the question to the back of his mind, instead forcing his deadened legs to move cautiously towards the duo.

He falters before he crouches down beside them, waiting for some kind of a reaction, realizing that even the most well-meaning touch would be poorly received at the moment. Because Jay could remember the agitation, that knee jerk reaction to touch the blonde had when she and Burgess had been taken by those gun smugglers, and that had only been a couple of hours and she had only been roughed up, but she had been wary for days. And that leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. That between Booth and the gunslingers and that goddamn parasite, that this is even happening now. That all of this is happening within a fifteen-month time frame and for what?

The reaction doesn’t come.

“Hailey,” he whispers, and his fingers itch to reach out and touch her, but he fights it, a task made easier as his gaze shifts to the reddened rope burns on her wrists, eyes darting down to the crimson-slicked knife, a low tension rising in his chest. “I’ll hold onto it for you, so we can get you out of here.”

In some twisted miracle, his voice doesn’t crack even when his words sound hollow in his ears. 

But Hailey’s hands only shake harder and Jay watches her throat spasm, sees her brows stitch together into something indecipherable as she doesn’t give him an answer. And every part of Jay wants it to be because of the cold, but something dark and foreboding within him knows it is not.

“I need you to look at us, Hail’s. You know me. You know Kim. And… and Sylvie. It’s us, okay? Not them. So, you gotta let us help.”

Moving slowly, almost imperceptibly, the blonde tilts her head upward, away from the ground, in Burgess's general direction.

“I… I… can’t.”

His partner slurs over another tremor sifting through her, lapsing back into refusal. She moves back a bit, trying to curl in on herself, and when she leans forward her hair slices shadows across her face. 

“Why not?”

Burgess questions gently, when the words go unspoken from Jay’s thoughts.

“It’s n-not safe.”

Hailey whispers, tearing at chunks of Jay’s soul in the process. 

“We secured the area, Hailey. The scene is safe, okay?”

It’s not the complete truth, but it is the one lie of omission that Jay convinces himself is okay for now. 

Silence.

“Okay?”

Burgess repeats after him. 

And slowly and deliberately… the blonde nods. 

“Okay.” Kim soothes, “Can you give me the knife?”

A slight downward twitch is the only response they receive.

It’s as close to permission as they’re probably going to get, so Burgess reaches out gradually, giving time for the blonde to watch her hand, even when his partner’s distant eyes don’t move to track it.

But Hailey doesn’t flinch when Kim’s palm brushes across her knuckles, cupping them in her own, nor does she move when Burgess brings up her other hand, steady fingers reaching to grasp the hilt. 

“Hailey...”

The brunette prods when the blonde’s fingers don’t uncurl. 

For a second that seems to last eons, all is silent. 

Until the only thing Jay hears is Sylvie shifting nervously behind him and his heart thundering in his chest.

Then Hailey lets go.

The knife falls into Burgess’s hand and in a fluid movement she’s pointing the sharpened edge away from them, wordlessly handing the hilt of the weapon back to him.

The pressure unwinds in his chest a bit as he takes the hilt of the knife carefully. It’s evidence now, and judging by the crimson congealing in its serrated edges, his partner had at least gotten a few swipes in. 

“Good… good…” Kim murmurs, and her other hand hasn’t left Hailey’s, shaking in tandem with her shivers. “You… you feel cold, Hailey, and you’re probably hurting a little bit right now. So, there’s two options. I can ask Brett to come back over here. Or we can walk back to the ambulance together, okay? What do you want to do?”

Asking anything to Upton in this state is like pulling teeth and its long moments before the blonde, even acknowledges she’s been asked a question.

Jay understands giving her a choice. That Hailey needs the autonomy. But half of him just wants to pick her up and carry her to the ambulance himself. 

“I… I c-can walk.”

Hailey croaks in a slur of a whisper, so quiet Jay has to strain his ears as her words dissipate like her breath into the air.

“Okay.”

Her movements are slow and awkward, palming her away from the brick, but whatever vestiges of adrenaline she’d been working with must have been handed off with the knife. Because when she straightens, she groans, a throttled, raw sound like falling timber, as she sways toward the right, curling her hand tighter into her waist.

Both he and Burgess reach to support her, steadying her against the wall and Jay feels her tense under his touch in a way she hadn’t with Burgess, vibrating with an intensity, like she’s forcing herself not to withdraw.

He swallows hard, moving his hand away once he’s sure Kim has got her.

“I… s-said I can walk.”

Hailey mumbles after a moment, practically boneless against the wall.

He and Kim share a look.

“Okay, Hailey… Okay.”

…. … … ..

The journey to the ambulance is in fits and starts.

Brett replaces him at Hailey’s side, wrapping the wooly shock blanket around her shoulders, remaining a steadying presence along with Kim.

Jay drifts ahead, carves out a path for them as he tries to shake the feeling of rawness and struggles not to choke on the knot in his throat. Stifling his burning desperation, as he listens to every sound his partner makes struggling to stay upright.

More officers are on the scene now, he realizes when he steps out of the alley, three… no four patrol cars parked in the gravel near theirs, sirens whirling silently in the stillness. Amongst them Jay is able to pick out Atwater and a few patrol officers he’d become acquaintances by sheer association. But he doesn’t see Adam ... or Voight.

A few of them look up upon their entry, casting various looks of pity and Jay feels himself standing taller and staring them down until they look away.

“-the guy who called it in? Was he on the scene?”

Jay hears Kevin asking Foster more about the 911 call, as the gravel threatens to pull him under, but the paramedic only shakes her head.

“No one was here when we pulled up except her, you’ll have to ask dispatch for information on that. We just go where they tell us.”

She explains apologetically, then she turns, looking at Jay, or rather behind him, before excusing herself to help. Moving the stretcher to meet them halfway. Jay blinks hard, looking at the blurred concrete beneath him as he clenches his trembling hands into fists at his side, so he doesn’t have to see them shake like her’s.

“Where are Voight and Ruzek?”

He asks softly, using every bit of willpower to keep his voice steady as he comes to a stop beside Atwater.

“Ruzek has an informant that runs this territory, he and Voight are going to pay him a little visit.”

Kevin mutters darkly, unbridled anger seeping around his words, aimed not at the ambulance he’s glaring at, but at the situation.

Jay nods an acknowledgement that he is almost positive goes through one ear and out the other as they watch Foster talk to Hailey, who is really only standing at this point due to the combined efforts of Kim and Brett.

He distantly registers that Kevin is still talking as he looks on, but it all feels distant somehow, because she looks so small.

And small has never been something he’d thought to describe Hailey as, even when everyone on the unit all but towers over her. 

His arm pulses angrily and when he flexes his fingers in an attempt to relieve it, residual sparks of pain trickle down tendons, radiating the feeling everywhere else instead. 

“Jay!”

The brunette flinches, yanking his attention back to his friend, who’s looking at him now instead of them.

“I said you can give me knife; I’ll hand it off to Davidson so he can bag and tag it. Are you good?”

The knife.

He’d almost forgotten about it and now the hilt sears like fire in his hand. 

He looks at it for a few moments, before stiffly handing it to Atwater. The taller man looks at him strangely for half a second, then turns with him a half step away to give the girls privacy. 

“Jay, are you good?”

Kevin repeats, taking the knife from him.

“Yeah.”

It doesn’t even sound right in his ears.

“Come on, let’s get this to Davidson, then I’ll give you a ride to Med.”

Atwater says after a moment.

“I want to help.”

Halstead whispers, watching some of the patrol officers draw up police tape. 

“You are helping, Jay. You’re her partner. You need to be there with her. Don’t worry I’ll keep you posted.”

They lapse into silence as the ambulance doors slam shut behind them. 

… … … … 

“What? Natalie is with her? Why is Natalie with her? Nat’s a pediatric doctor. She should be with Ethan or Will or-”

Maggie silences him with a look.

“Natalie is with Hailey because Hailey needs her,” the nurse says firmly, leading him away from the nurses station. “She’s a capable doctor, Upton is getting the best medical care we can give her.”

Jay inhales a deep shuddering breath through his nose, the pungent smell of antiseptic cutting through his senses as he follows the smaller nurse past blinking call lights, different colored scrubs, and closed examination rooms. 

One of those rooms holds his partner.

He takes comfort in knowing that at least she isn't alone, that Burgess is with her. 

“I know- That’s not what I meant- it’s just-”

His words spill over each other in his effort to get them out, jumbling into an incoherent mess, but Maggie only nods sympathetically, interrupting him gently before he can get his explanation out.

“I know,” she assures, leading him to a row of plastic, slate-gray chairs organized on the outskirts of the emergency department. Most of them are without occupants, except the one on the end, filled by a man easily in his seventies or eighties. Maggie points at a seat on the opposite end wordlessly, the command clear, and Jay lets himself silently collapse into the seat, raking in another deep, shuddering breath as Maggie sits down in the chair adjacent to him.

She regards him carefully. 

“When was the last time you ate something, Jay?”

Jay furrows his brow and thinks back to the last thing he can remember, half a Cliff Bar washed down with stale black coffee, but in his fading adrenaline and whirling thoughts, he can’t exactly pinpoint when that was. He leans forward, resting one elbow on his knee, curling his injured one to his chest as he tries to massage some coherency into his mind, but his silence has already given Maggie the answer.

She rests a hand on his shoulder.

It’s warm and reassuring.

He doesn’t deserve it.

“I’m going to grab you something from the vending machine and I want you to eat it okay?,” she commands gently. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

Jay’s eyes burn with salt, blurring the checkered tile until it all fuses together.

“I- Could y-you get Will?”

Maggie’s somber smile softens further..

“He’s in surgery right now, but I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Then she gets up to leave.

And he is alone.

Again.

.. … …

The Nature Valley Bar tastes like ash in his throat, but Jay chokes it down with a swig out of the water bottle Maggie gave him, crushing the wrapper into a tinfoil ball in his hand as his leg stutters out the familiar staccato beat against the linoleum tile. 

The thing is… that when he’s alone, when he’s not busy doing something, when he’s not helping, his thoughts become loud. Loud like an echo chamber. And they won’t leave him alone.

It was hard to explain it. The way memories of the past would flicker back to him with ease like an old film reel, colors and sensations dulled slightly by age with very few events recalled in shocking clarity. Mingling the vague with the sharp, bringing back the scents and sights and sounds of the weeks, months, years past.

Most often he would see flashes of battle, it had been a problem for a while, even before he’d been discharged, when he’d still been fighting in that desert, flames of all colors of the rainbow roaring past. He would hear voices shouting, and the urgent tone of what he thought was his own. Faces, scowling or smiling or leering at him out of smoke and shadows. Blood. Plenty of blood. And the faces of those he had lost, at all ages, including his own. 

Playing out before him, seeming a world apart from the life he lives now, before fading back into obscurity.

On good days they were just flickers.

None stayed for long. 

Just hovered on the edges, waiting for the right moment.

On the bad days they didn’t give him a choice. 

And now his mind has fluttered to life with a vengeance.

Because he can smell crimson on his hair, sour and metallic.

“Fucking pigs!”

Can feel the pounding pressure from being shot point blank, center mass. Where his vest had saved him from any critical injuries, but where his arm hadn’t been so lucky.

“Hailey!”

Can taste the copper bile as it leaves his mouth when the tallest of the three kicks him again. 

“It’s too easy!”

One of them laughs. 

And when Jay blinks again, his shoulder is numb against the cracked concrete of that warehouse floor, his ears are ringing from gunfire shot in such close proximity, and through sawdust and stars he sees his gun in the hands of the ringleader, olive-toned fingers waving it in the air mockingly, pointing in random directions, aiming at air.

He wheezes when another boot burrows into his gut, a sunburst of pain lighting his nerve endings ablaze, and it takes everything within him not to cry out. 

“Hailey!”

He gasps, the edges of his vision darkening, the room spinning in his effort to focus on something not moving, so he can pinpoint his partner in this clusterfuck of a disaster.

And finally, he registers the blurry shape of Upton, sees the trickles of blood staining tracks on her face, painting thin rivulets down her neck, droplets adjoining together on the floor. Her eyes are closed, her hand twitches at her side, and Jay knows with a sinking feeling they got her good with that plywood.

Goddamnit.

Goddamni-

Another kick interrupts his fragile thought process.

And as he lays there trying to catch his breath, another pair of tan boots fuse into his vision, drifting past murky shifting colors past him. Not the one who’s kicking him, not the ringleader, but the third one, coming to a stop in front of his partner.

“Hey! Hey… Renner likes blondes right?”

Jay’s eyes snap open and he’s back in the emergency room.

The sterile, antiseptic, bustling emergency room.

And things, all the little things, all the small micro expressions start adding up, they start tying themselves together, painting a picture he doesn’t want to see. 

Nausea wells up within him, setting his heart ablaze, shooting searing pain down his arm.

He barely makes it to the restroom, the bathroom door shutting firmly behind him, as he expels the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl in front of him.

Fuck.

Jay stands up, alone in the cold, tiled confines, flushing the toilet, then rests his forehead against the smooth surface of the wall.

Fucking hell.

She’s alive. 

He repeats the mantra to himself.

She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive.

But no thanks to him.

He was her partner.

And he didn’t even have her back. 

Jay drifts zombie-like to the rows of mirrors above the firmly fixed porcelain sinks and his reflection mocks him.

Resignation paints the shadows in his pale, green-tinted haggard face. It deepens the lines of fret and worry which have eaten away at him since those first countless hours and countless days. Barely there beard stubble, framing the yellowing bruises. His brown hair, dull and unruly, tangling his fingers when he cards them through the strands, highlighting the scrapes and scars. 

His arm burns again and the image of himself blurs in the mirror.

No. No, he couldn’t do this.

He couldn’t cry.

Jay turns on the tap, swishing cool water in his mouth to rid himself of the acrid taste of bile.

The pressure in his chest doesn’t go away.

… … ..

“As you can imagine, there is significant trauma present.”

Natalie sighs, smiling at them sadly. And she had a way of doing that, disarming people with her careful, methodical tone even when she was giving news that was in no way ideal. 

Jay stands outside of the examination room with Kim, who, like him, is caught between resignation and nervous energy. They almost mirror each other really. Arms crossed tightly against them, shoulders slumped, expressions torn, emotions all too visible on the heart of their sleeves.

Emotions that sift between anger and disbelief and sadness and guilt, when Nat follows up with words like non-displaced rib fractures and category two concussion and second-degree burns.

“For now, the primary goal is pain control. We administered a mild sedative, enough to keep her calm and encourage rest. The labs we ran found trace amounts of ketamine in her system. So, as a precaution, I’ve put in an order for a mild benzo, as well as a prophylactic antibiotic, because… we don’t know what degree of environmental exposure any of her open wounds saw.”

The nausea wells up in him, as fast and quick as the guilt that hollows him out.

Cold like frigid fingers, chilling his blood, freezing the synapses of his brain, forming a vice grip around his chest, squeezing, crushing, dragging his heart somewhere below his knees, gouging out what warmth remains.

Until it feels like he would have to dig his fingers under his ribcage to release the breath that remained lodged in his throat.

“However, Hailey’s a fighter. I see no reason that she shouldn’t make a full recovery. The main factor in ensuring that happens is rest.”

Natalie comments, pausing before she adds.

“I… I would suggest that she speak with Dr. Charles or if not him, someone else soon. Mental trauma often outweighs the physical.”

The weight of her suggestion clangs against him like a funeral bell, heavy and foreboding.

Breathe. 

Breathe, Goddamnit, Jay must tell himself, fighting the phantom tightening of his chest that frantically tries to unravel thoughts that go unfinished.

“Can… can I see her?”

His voice cracks, betraying his lack of composure, but he can’t bring himself to care because Hailey is alone on the other side of those closed blinds.

She shouldn’t have to be alone.

Not now.

Not ever.

“Of course,” Natalie murmurs, then to Burgess, “Can I talk to you about something else?”

Kim nods, straightening up beside him, pulling away from the examination room door.

And even though they don’t tell him, he knows what it’s about.

…. …. …

The room is quiet and darkened, almost silent, if not for the steady beat of the monitors.

Hailey lies still in the bed, surrounded by wires and fluids, and she looks so pale, almost chalky under the sterile white bandages and butterfly stitches that tie her together. Smaller than Jay has ever seen her. It’s– It’s- There are no words for what it is.

“Hailey.” 

He whispers, his voice cracking.

Silence.

Her eyes are closed and expect for the rhythmic inhale and exhale of breath, the rest of her completely still. Almost like she was sleeping, though he knows really it's just the pull of the sedative. And all he can see is the way her fingers had twitched when she was unconscious on that warehouse floor. 

“Hailey.”

He says again.

He doesn’t know what more to say.

He doesn’t know what else he can do to make this better.

“I’m sorry.” 

The words spill out of him without preamble, hollow and thin.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

Jay murmurs, wavering at the entrance, not daring to move closer. 

“I’m sorry I c-couldn’t fight back hard enough. I’m sorry, that I-I didn’t have your back,” he stumbles over the knot in his throat. “I tried but I couldn’t. I – and they did this.” 

His eyes are wide, and his arm is on fire as he struggles to continue.

“And we- we- couldn’t even find- Jesus, I’m so, so sorry...” 

He whispers, and the courage to take a step forward comes slowly, not all at once but in stutters and stops until he’s at the railing of her bed, grabbing it just to stay standing. Under the muted light he sees the hand-shaped bruises peeking out behind bandages and from under the pristine patient gown and knows the wounds likely go further, cut deeper. 

Jay sags where he stands, curling his hands against the plastic barrier.

“I’m sorry.” 

He murmurs thickly, tears clouding his vision, and he can’t stop apologizing, the same words wrenching themselves from his chest over and over, as if he says them enough maybe they will undo some of the damage before him.

Because Hailey is here.

She is alive.

But she’s is injured.

And it’s his fault.

Because maybe if he had done a bit more, he would have been in that hospital bed not her.

The thoughts cycle through his mind all at once, over and over again, until he can’t stifle the burning salt any longer, bent double as he lets silent tears fall, unable to stop them. 

Not even when the door opens, then clicks softly closed as someone else joins him.

“Oh man…”

A deep voice breathes softly, and Jay recognizes the sound of his brother, as he tries to rein it in. Will silently rests his hand on his shoulder, remaining a steady presence as he cries.   
Patiently, letting Jay have this moment.

“I c-couldn’t stop them.”

He gasps, over a shudder, when he finally finds his words.

“Hey, hey, look at me man.” 

Will instructs guiding him upwards, until he’s standing again.

“I know it looks horrible, but this, what happened, it isn’t your fault.”

And Jay feels like he can’t breathe.

The air sucked out of him like a vacuum, helplessness replaced with some type of misplaced anger. Because that’s all anyone has been telling him.

That it wasn’t his fault.  
“How- How could you say that, Will?,” he spits, “How can everyone keep saying that? She’s here because of me!”

The echoes of their vile laughter and plywood crunching against skin ring in his ears.

The musty sawdust flooding his lungs as the cold peppers goosebumps across his arms. 

And the pain is everywhere, sludging over thick and sour and hot, clogging in his throat and lungs, scouring over skin like hot, gooey tar and sticky molasses, soaking the police vest he can no longer feel.

They say it isn’t his fault that it was nothing that he could have done. 

“You were shot, Jay! Three times. Point blank, center mass. You cracked a rib, half of the others fucking bruised to hell! The bullet in your arm missed your brachial artery by half a fucking centimeter! You were bleeding out on that floor when Kevin and the others found you! You were unconscious when they- when they dragged you in here!”

Will hisses, the emotion hollowing out his words, cutting through the haze of Jay’s own self-doubt.

“I was out there, Jay. You couldn’t even stand. You could barely even talk! You put up a fight. I know damn well you did. But you were injured, man! The bastards shot you and they beat you and then they took her and- and did shitty things that should have never been done to anyone, but that’s on them. Not on you!”

Jay blinks, eyes tearing up again, as Will goes on his tirade.

“And I know it sucks! That you feel didn’t have her back. But you checked out against medical advice didn’t you? You went straight back to goddamn work like the asshole you are! Put in all the fucking hours, until you brought her in today. And you’re here with her now. So, if that isn’t having your partner’s back then I don’t know what the hell is.”

Jay shakes under his brother’s grasp, feels a bit of the tension seep away as he lets out a shaking breath.

“Come on, let’s sit down.”

And he lets Will guide him into one of the chairs at the bedside. 

Wipes his tears away with a sweep of his knuckles as his brother sits in the other.  
The monitor beeps again, steady and methodical, Hailey’s chest rising up and down slowly in accord, as if nothing had even happened.

“It’s going to be okay.”

Will says.

And Jay wants to believe him.  
… … …

Hailey sleeps.

For hours.

Catching up on a lifetime of sleep that had been stolen in her days of captivity.

And as he sits vigil, the faces next to him change.

From Will to Will and Kim, then just Kim after Will is forced back to work.

Maggie and Natalie checking in every so often to administer more medication or offer them something to eat.

Both of them refuse.

The rumbling nerves siphoning away any appetite they could have had. 

At some point his phone vibrates against his leg. 

He doesn’t look at it.

But a second later, Burgess's cell makes the same muffled noise.

And he watches her check it out of the corner of his eye.

“Adam says they found them.”

She whispers flatly.

It is no mystery, who them is.

“They’re taking care of it.”

It is no mystery, what she means by that either.

And in any other moment Jay may have had qualms with how Voight dealt with things.

But now…

“Good.”

He whispers.

Burgess nods.

And they both lapse back into silence.

…. …. …

Jay doesn’t know how long he and Burgess sit there.

Doesn’t know how much time had passed when Hailey’s eyes begin to flutter under closed lids, her fingers twitching sporadically, as she draws in a painful breath that hitches in her chest, the only sound in the silence, and for the first time in hours opens her eyes.

For a moment neither of them realizes what’s happening. Neither of them recognizes what this means. 

He doubts that Hailey realizes either, suspended in a half-lidded stupor staring up at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes.

Bloodshot eyes, but they’re open, open, open…

And that means that she’s awake.

Jay stiffens first, voice dry-clicking in disbelief, and then he’s sitting straight, leaning forward.

“Hailey...”

He whispers. 

The blonde moves, or she attempts to, face contorting into something agonized and confused, as she tries to cover her face with her hands, only half way successful as the IV tugs against her skin. 

“What…”

Hailey whispers, reaching sluggishly to pull at it, and her voice sounds as though it is splintering, cracking in two, four. Ten. Slightly off-kilter, muted from the sedative. 

“No… no you can’t do that.”

Kim says softly, urgently, suddenly beside Jay, reaching to stop her hand from moving any further.

Hailey’s brows knit together in her confusion, eyes jerkily tracking left from IV, then right to Kim’s hand on hers, bloodshot eyes, not quite focusing on anything, somehow seeing everything.

“Haile-”

“Burgess?” The blonde interrupts in a hoarse whisper, staring at the hand on hers, and he wonders if she actually sees Kim nod her affirmation. 

“Where… where’m I?”

She slurs into the air.

“The hospital, you’re at the hospital, Hailey.”

It takes long moments for Hailey to react to Kim’s words, but he recognizes the tell-tale signs of crying, can see the silent tears streaming down her temples as the blonde opens her mouth, if only to run her tongue along her teeth, because she doesn’t say anything, tensing as a tremor sifts through her, before lazily reaching for the IV again.

“No… no you can’t do that, Hail’s.”

Jay says this time, wobbly and soft as it echoes throughout the room.

Using a small fortune of energy, his partner’s head turns away from her hands, empty gaze falling first on Kim, then tilting left a little to settle on him, and their eyes meet, actually meet, for the first time in days.  
“Jay…”

His name comes out slow and heavy, more like a question

“Hey, Hails.”

He tries to muster up a smile, something that doesn’t look like his heart isn’t in pieces, something that doesn’t look like he’s falling apart on the inside. 

“Hey… ”

She echoes.

“How are you feeling?”

He whispers. 

Even when the question sounds so stupid the second it leaves his mouth.

But if it bothered his partner it doesn’t show.

“I… I… d-don’t… know.”

Hailey whispers back distantly, after some internal struggle.

And it has to be bad, if she’s even admitting it, because she’s stubborn like the rest of them. 

Her eyes drift again, sweeping the room, half lidded, and Jay can tell she’s drifting again, can tell the sedative is pulling her back under.

“And… you ...?”

Hailey mumbles tiredly.

“What?”

He mumbles, straining to keep his tone even. 

“Are… you good… Jay?

She whispers quietly, eyes wandering across the room. 

And it hurts him that she’s even asking.  
When she’s the one with in the hospital bed, pumped full of sedatives, wrapped full of bandages, having suffered only God knows what. 

Jay’s eyes water.

“Yeah,” he coughs wetly. “I’m… I’m good.”

And if he says it enough.

He might just believe it.  
… …  
Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Found this way back in the archives, dusted it off and updated it.
> 
> Let me know what you thought?


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